


The Dragon Within

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jonerys, Sex, Strangers, Strangers to Lovers, Tattoos, jon the tattoo artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: Jon Snow is a tattoo artist with a rough past. When he crosses paths with perfect florist Daenerys Targaryen, sparks fly. But perhaps they're both not as straightforward as they lead on? A Jonerys AU short story about falling in love. Contains original artwork.





	The Dragon Within

..

Jon cracked open another can of soda, lit a cigarette, and, watching the smoke slipper past his sunglasses, sighed: “I fucking hate this place.”

The sun was intense; a hot breeze was rolling down the street, and the black asphalt simmered like a cook-stove. Jon had retreated off the main street into a shady alley between the shops, but there was no repose from the warmth. Even here, sweat trickled down his skin, and he was constantly wiping his sticky forehead with the long sleeves of his tee.

Grey was squatted next to him, rolling a smoke on his leg. At Jon’s words, he glanced up and nodded solemnly: “Tell me about it.”

“Even the leather chairs in the shop are boiling. Clients have started to complain.” Jon tucked his fingertips into the collar of his shirt and pulled at the fabric. His black neck tattoo glistened wetly. “I brought in a fan the other day, and the boss freaked out. Something about all equipment having to be tested in case the plugs blow up?” He shook his head, sweat flinging off his locks at the movement. “Pathetic.”

“He just wants to complain about everything,” Grey assured him. He tapped his fingertips to the name-tag hanging off his tee. “Seen this?” he asked and waited for Jon to look down. “He said my name was too _ ethnic _ to pronounce, so he wants me to wear this to appear more _ approachable_.”

Jon narrowed his eyes as he read the name on the tag: “Wyatt?” He furrowed his brows. “What’s wrong with Grey?”

“Nicknames are apparently _ unfriendly_.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Beats me.”

“Yeah,” Grey nodded and stuffed the smoke between his lips, tobacco drizzling to the ground. “Beats me.”

Jon had spent three years at the tattoo parlour. InkedUp wasn’t even a very reputable shop, but it had been the only place with space available when he arrived in town. At first, he was excited; he was given the workspace right by the window, and he was able to drag clients inside with his intricate designs of wolves and runes and Norse goddesses. For the first three months, he made good cash, and he started to wonder if perhaps he could afford a parlour of his own sooner than expected.

But his happiness didn’t last. Once the owners changed, Jon was moved to the back of the shop to make way for the boss’ own son. Although pissed off at the sudden change, he would’ve been able to move on had the new lad not been so _ useless_. For weeks, Jon brooded in the shadows whilst watching his mates being forced to teach the boy how to draw, how to prepare a stencil, even how to _hold _ a tattoo gun.

But even _ that _ he would’ve forgiven - it was the damn decision to make him cover up in long sleeved shirts that he couldn’t stand.

At the mere thought, Jon gasped for air and started tugging at his shirt in a more rapid manner, trying to force a breeze to slip down his boiling chest.

“If you’re that warm, smoking probably won’t help,” a voice remarked.

Jon turned his head and smirked around his cigarette as he noticed Missandei. She strode into the alley with confidence, tall in her five inch heels. As Grey hurried to his feet, he glanced up at her with slight annoyance:

“Did you have to wear those?”

“Yes, because they make me look amazing.”

Grey threw out his arms and looked to Jon for back-up, but Jon merely shrugged and said:

“Looking good, Missi.” Strutting about akin a model, Jon could absolutely see why Grey was working hard to make Missandei less of a client and more of a girlfriend. Still, it was not her that his eyes decided to linger on; there was someone else standing at the entrance to the alley who piqued his interest.

As Missandei and Grey started squabbling, Jon pushed his sunglasses into his curly hair as he took in the sight of the girl. She was a short, pale thing with silver braids and bright pink lips. It was however her violet eyes which captivated him. She shyly met his gaze before glancing to the ground, her fingertips pushing in between her braids. Still, he could sense her looking at him from between her eyelashes.

“Hey,” he said and straightened up. He snubbed out his smoke against the wall and turned to face her, “Can I help you?”

She shrugged her shoulders a bit, causing the pink chiffon dress to dance around her frame. “Whatever with?” she asked. Her front teeth tugged at her lower lip as she watched him walk closer.

_ Oh, she’s cute, _ Jon thought, dropping the filter of his smoke into the bin as he stopped in front of her, _ and she knows it. _ “You just look a bit lost,” Jon said. He leaned against the brick wall, trying to appear nonchalant, but it was hard when sweat was constantly trickling down his brows.

The girl cocked her brows and leaned back onto the small heels of her sandals. “And I suppose you could help me find my way?”

“It just so happens that I am heading in your direction,” Jon spoke boldly. He licked his lips as he watched her cheeks flush, and he smirked: “Want my company?”

The girl’s lips parted as she was about to speak, but before she would say a word, Missandei came running up to them, her clacking heels echoing loudly in the empty alley. “Oh my God, I am so sorry! I completely forgot!” Her hands closed around the girl’s shoulders from behind, and she smiled at Grey and Jon: “Guys, this is Daenerys. She is my new housemate! Daenerys, these are the guys.”

“Hey guys,” Daenerys said and waved with the tip of her fingers.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Oh, you’re friends?”

Missandei nodded before giving him an odd look. “You haven’t been using your dirty pick-up lines on her already, have you?” she asked.

As Jon’s cheeks flushed bright red, Daenerys quickly replied: “Oh no, he was just giving me directions to the parlour.” She pointed at the building right next to them, the fat, black letters on the window spelling INKEDUP. “It’s right there. I am _ so _ silly.” She twirled a braid around her finger and winked at Jon.

Jon averted her gaze. _ Trust me to try getting in the panties of Missandei’s friend, _ he thought and clenched his jaw in annoyance. _ Why do I have to be such a dick? _

Missandei glanced between them before raising her brows. “Okay,” she hummed, letting go of Daenerys’ shoulders. She gestured for Grey to join them. “Well, I happen to have an appointment right now with a gentleman who better not reek of smoke.”

“Whoever could that be?” Grey asked as he trudged up to them with a grin, the cigarette bobbing between his lips.

Missandei narrowed her eyes as she read his name tag. “Wyatt, it seems.”

Grey swiftly ripped the tag off his shirt as Jon laughed. “Very funny,” he grumbled.

* * *

Whilst Grey started tattooing a Mandala pattern on Missandei’s foot, Jon seated himself by his desk, grabbed a pencil and got back to work.

His workspace was covered with tattoo ideas; drawings of ravens and skulls, magazine cut-outs he found inspirational, and glossy art-prints. He had tried to systemise his mess; stacking current projects to the right, just beneath his mug of coffee, and keeping everything else on his left for clients to browse through. But as always, it all ended up in one big pile, and he found himself shoving scraps of paper aside to make space for his current piece: a giant fire-breathing dragon.

As Jon reached for his mug of sharpies, his fingertips brushing between the colour choices, his eyes caught sight of the fluttering chiffon by his desk. Looking up, he found Daenerys standing by his side, her gaze searching his wall of prints.

“You have a very dark style,” she commented, her head cocked to the side as she admired his drawing of a wolfpack feasting on a deer. “Very _ animalistic._”

“Dark and animalistic,” Jon repeated and leaned back in his chair. He swung it around so that he was facing her, his arms crossed. “Yep, that’s my style.”

“Just in art or also in person?” Daenerys asked, looking at him sweetly.

Jon bit the tip of his tongue as he met her eyes. “Yeah, about earlier,” he mumbled, “I might’ve come across a bit crass. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be,” she assured him. Her fingertips traced the edge of his desk as she walked around it, the tips of her nails nibbling at the cling film he’d put down to keep the space clean. “It was _ refreshing_.”

“Refreshing?” Jon asked. He turned his chair as he watched her walk, ending back up at his desk.

Daenerys seated herself on the spare stool in front of him. Her eyes lingered at his neck. “Is that a wolf?” she asked.

Jon instinctively raised his hand to touch the skin. “It is,” he nodded.

“It looks rather vicious.”

“It’s meant to be a direwolf, an extinct species,” Jon explained, his fingers rubbing at his tattoo, causing the face of the wolf to move. “It was as large as any wolf we know today, but with bigger teeth, and a fearsome bite.”

“Mhmm,” Daenerys hummed, slowly blinking her eyes. “_Animalistic._” She wrapped a braid around her finger as her gaze sought his covered arms. “Are you completely covered in tattoos?”

“Well, that is a question best answered in the nude,” Jon retorted. He expected her to blush and turn away, but though her cheeks darkened, she tucked her chin to her chest as she gave him a wry smile.

“Is that so?” she asked, her voice low.

Jon stirred at her tone. Her eyes twinkled naughtily and he thought, _ She might dress like an angel, but there is a devil in her clawing its way out. _ He licked his lips as he felt his heartbeat quicken slightly. “Do you have any tattoos?” he asked.

Daenerys shook her head. She let go of the braid which jumped back behind her shoulder. “Truth be told, this is my first time in a parlour,” she said and looked around. “Rather quaint, isn’t it?”

Jon looked around too, mumbling: “I suppose,” although _ quaint _ was probably the last word he’d use to describe InkedUp.

The place was _ rough_; since the owners realised that clients would keep coming as long as their tattoos were well done, they started skimming on the decor. At places, the tapestry was coming off the walls, the floor was covered in black marks from the rolling desks, and empty mugs were allowed to pile up on the main counter, making the clerk look like a lazy barista.

Jon grabbed a hold of a red sharpie and started tracing the fire on his drawing. “Would you like one?” he asked, shortly glancing up at Daenerys.

She sucked on her lower lip and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Missandei has shown me hers. They’re really pretty - Grey’s a great artist.” She fiddled with the fabric of her dress, causing the strap to slip down her shoulder. As she spoke, Jon found himself unable to look away from her revealed collarbone.

_ Who knew something so simple could be so enticing, _ he thought and rubbed his sticky forehead once more. He pushed the fabric of his sleeve to cover his mouth and nose as he pondered, _ And who knew I’d turn out to be such a pervert. _

“It’s just, everything is already so new to me. Living away from home, having a job-”

“Hold on.” Jon’s hand lowered, and he furrowed his brows as he took in her face once more. “_Living away from home? _ How old are you?”

Daenerys blinked. “I’m twenty-eight,” she said.

Jon calmed a bit. _ Thank the Gods. _ “But you’ve only just moved?”

Daenerys lips twisted as she seemed to give his words a good thought. As it looked like she was struggling with the answer, he was about to dismiss his own question when she said: “I’ve been living with my brother. He’s… not been easy.” She fiddled with her dress again, the strap slipping further.

Jon sucked in air through his nose. _ She’s Missandei’s friend, _ he reminded himself, though his eyes were greedily taking in every inch of revealed skin. _ You can’t fuck her. You can’t fuck her. _ “Ah-hah?” Jon mumbled.

Daenerys took it as a sign to carry on: “He’s been supporting me all this time. He meant well, but he also expected a lot in return. I was starting to feel more like a paid maid than his sister.” She sighed and glanced down at her bared shoulder, hesitating for a second before slowly pulling the strap back up. “When Missandei’s last housemate bailed, I asked if I could take the room. It’s only been three months, but I already feel _ so much _better.”

“That’s good,” Jon said, and he meant it. For a moment, he thought of his sister Arya who was forced to wear skirts and dresses growing up. Since moving abroad to attend university, she’d come alive, truly finding herself in Berlin’s gloomy underground. “Missi’s a great girl.”

“She is,” Daenerys nodded.

Jon unscrewed the lid of another sharpie and started adding orange to the flames. “So, what do you work with?”

“Oh, nothing as exciting as this,” Daenerys said. Her nails started picking at the clingfilm again. She was pulling it around an exposed corner of the desk. “I work in a flower shop.”

“You’re a florist?”

“Hardly,” she smiled. “I’m more of an underpaid apprentice. Yesterday, they had me remove the thorns off of hundreds of roses.” She held up her hands so that he could see the fresh nicks on her fingertips.

Jon grimaced: “Ouch!”

“Turns out most brides don’t want their bouquets to nip back on their big day,” she shrugged.

“See, that’s a mistake.”

“What, not bleeding down your white gown?”

“No, not appreciating things the way they are.” Jon pointed his pen to the print she was admiring earlier. “See that wolfpack feasting? It’s not pretty. Most people just want to imagine wolves as majestic beasts. But even beasts got to eat.” He watched the drawing for a bit as his voice turned melancholic: “There’s good, and there’s bad. Got to take one with the other. You don’t get to decide.” He paused for a second too long, then turned back to face Daenerys.

She was looking at him with a blank expression.

Jon blushed. “Sorry,” he mumbled and hunched himself back in over the drawing. “I got carried away.” He continued in silence. The only sounds in the shop were from Grey’s tattoo gun working, Missandei’s chatter, and Jon’s sharpies etching life into his art-piece.

_ I am so stupid, _ he thought, wiping his hand across his sweaty face. He felt even warmer than before, the embarrassment burning in his stomach. _ First I flirt, then I apologise, and then I turn into a fucking poet? _

“Jon?” Daenerys whispered.

Jon glanced up from his drawing to her. “Hm?”

She leaned in close, her gaze slipping from him to Missandei, then back. “Jon, where’s the toilet?”

He blinked, wondering why she was whispering the question, but he just gestured toward the two doors behind the front desk. “Over there,” he said. “They’re both unisex. Use whichever.”

Daenerys nodded, looking back at Missandei. Her friend was completely engrossed in her story, so much so that she barely noticed Grey’s replies. Her eyes slipped back to him. “Jon?” she said again.

Jon put down his pencil and sighed. “Yes?” For a moment, he was annoyed with her consistent whisper, but as he looked into her eyes, he felt his stomach tense.

“I think you should come with me,” she said. “I want to see that… _ animalistic _ side of you.”

As she got up and walked briskly toward the toilet, Jon stayed seated, staring at her empty stool. _ You can’t fuck her. She’s Missandei’s friend. You can’t fuck her. You can’t fuck her. _ However, as the door slammed shut behind Daenerys but the lock didn’t sound, he found himself scrambling to his feet. _ You can’t fuck her. _

* * *

Jon fucked Daenerys hard against the toilet wall.

She was clinging on to him, her perfect nails digging into his shirt as he trapped her between his chest and the cold stone. Her panties were hanging off her right foot, stuck in a strap on her sandals, whilst her dress had been pushed up just far enough for him to enter her. His jeans were clinging on to his hips, his cock pulled out of his boxers in haste.

“Fuck,” he grunted to her neck as he felt his muscles tensing. “_Fuck!_”

Daenerys shushed him. “Don’t let them hear you!” she whispered hotly. She was biting her lower lip to hold in her own moans, but some still managed to press their way out through her gritted teeth.

Jon glanced at her from between his half-closed lids. From the waist up, she looked like a perfectly innocent girl; her cheeks were flushed, her violet eyes shimmering, and her pink chiffon dress gave her a look of girlish decency. If it wasn’t for the fact that his cock was deeply embedded in her, he could’ve believed that she was just that - _ pure. _

_ Perhaps she is, _ he thought, _ perhaps I’m just a fucking dick for leading her on. _ But he couldn’t stop himself - not now, anyway. As he pushed into her one last time, he felt his knees shudder as he came.

Her lips swallowed his moans before her teeth bit onto his earlobe, her own voice muted to his skin as an own orgasm rolled through her body. Jon held her in place for a minute longer before gently slipping out of her, allowing her feet to hit the ground.

As they both made themselves decent in haste, Jon looked at her with sweaty cheeks. “This can’t happen again,” he said.

“It can’t,” Daenerys agreed.

“I could get fired,” Jon said, and it was as he spoke the words that it dawned on him. _ If my boss finds out, I will totally get fired. _

“You could,” Daenerys agreed once more. She pulled her panties up before flattening the creases in her dress. “You’re not going to tell Grey, are you?” she asked, her voice small.

Jon blinked at her. “What, that we fucked?” As Daenerys nodded, he shook his head. “No way in hell. He’s been working so hard to get to Missi. There’s no way I’ll risk his chances by admitting to _ this._”

“Good. I don’t want her to get the wrong impression of me,” Daenerys said.

_ That you’d fuck a stranger? _ Jon pondered. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and hesitantly thought, _ Not like you’re any better, Jon. _

“I only have one regret,” Daenerys said as she grabbed at the handle. She smiled at him from over her shoulder: “I never got to see you _ in the nude._” With that, she opened the door and peeked out, then swiftly disappeared back into the parlour.

Jon took a deep breath, turned on the water in the sink and quickly splashed some on his face before he followed.

By the time he reached his desk, Daenerys was chatting with Missandei whilst Grey was stretching his legs on a break. He walked past Jon’s desk just in the moment he sat down, and he laughed: “Oh my God, Jon!”

Jon sent him a worried look. “What?” he asked.

Grey dragged two fingers down Jon’s face and held them up for him to see. He grimaced as liquid dripped from them: “You’re the sweatiest I’ve ever seen you!”

Jon felt relief flood through his body, and he watched the clean water drip off Grey’s fingers as he shrugged: “I really need a fan.”

* * *

The following week, Jon was colouring the eye of the dragon when a flutter of fabric distracted him. Even before he looked her in the eyes, he knew it was her; his gaze slowly ran up the flowy, white dress until it rested at her breasts, the deep cleavage exposed by the rounded cut. “Daenerys,” he spoke, finally meeting her eyes. “You’re back.”

Daenerys smiled down at him. Her lips were painted soft red, just like her nails. He watched them shimmer as she tapped her cheek, giving him a ponderous look.

“What was your name again?” she asked.

Jon wrinkled his nose at her. “Very cute.”

Daenerys stuck her tongue out at him before sitting down on the empty stool. She stretched her legs and glanced toward Grey in the corner. “Missandei’s here to get her tattoo finished,” she spoke. “I’m just here to support her.”

“From afar?” Jon asked and cocked his head to the side.

Daenerys shrugged her shoulders and gave him a shy look.

_ She is so pretty, _ Jon thought, his cock already stirring. Memories of them fucking flooded his brain, and he pushed his boots harshly into the ground as he cleared his throat, trying to make enough noises to drown out the moans lingering in his ears. _ She is nothing like the girls I normally go for. _

The tattoo industry seemed to attract a certain look; most women he’d met dressed in all black, and they all had piercings and edgy hairstyles which made them stand out from the crowd. He liked it - there was something thrilling about clinging onto a leather jacket whilst fucking, his tongue prodding its way across sharp piercings.

But Daenerys was _ different. _ She was, in the eyes of the industry, _ mainstream _ with her perfect nails and perfect lips and perfect body dressed in a perfect dress for a perfect girl. _ Perfect describes her from head to toe, _ he thought, glancing down at her white ballerina shoes. _ Yep, perfect. _

“How’s work treating you?” he finally asked, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed his mug of coffee. “Still cutting thorns off of roses?”

“Oh, only on weekends,” she said, waving her nicked fingertips for him to see once again. “With the weather the way it is, I fear peak season will last longer than usual. I’ll be working eighteen hours days for weeks!”

“_Eighteen hours?_” Jon gawked. He shook his head as he sipped his brew. “That’s extreme.”

“Flowers don’t sell well in the winter. We’ve got to make the most of it whilst we can.”

“You speak like a true professional,” Jon teased with a smile.

Daenerys sighed and quirked her brows. “What can I say? Turned pro in a week!” She closed her hands around her knee as she crossed her legs, glancing down his clothed arms. “You know, I meant what I said last time,” she spoke.

Jon flushed and leaned in as he lowered his voice: “About fucking?”

“About seeing you in the nude!” Daenerys corrected him. “I’d like to have seen your tattoos. Why aren’t they on show?”

Jon bit his inner cheek. He felt dumb for having asked, but Daenerys didn’t even seem to mind. She just kept eyeing his arms until he put his mug down and rubbed them through the fabric of his shirt. “Well,” he said, glancing around to make sure that his boss was not around, “I’m not _ allowed._”

“Ooh, do you have some really _ dirty _ tattoos?” Daenerys asked.

Jon flushed. “No! Why do you sound so excited about it?” He shook his head. “It’s… _ complicated. _ It doesn’t matter anyway. Grey and I are saving to open our own parlour.”

Daenerys raised her brows, looking impressed. “Really?”

“Then we’ll be able to make our own rules,” Jon nodded. “No more sweating through the heat.” He pulled at his shirt, grimacing as he noticed the wetness that had formed in his pits. Worried that Daenerys could tell, he clenched his arms tight to his sides and clapped his thighs, pretending to be just resting for the moment.

Daenerys cocked her head to one side, then the other, her braids dancing around her shoulders. “Mhm, it must be hot,” she admitted.

Jon nodded.

Daenerys cocked her head again, empathizing: “Like, _ really hot._”

_ Oh no _ , Jon thought as he caught her eyes. She was looking at him with innocence, but her shoulders were moving ever so seductively as she pushed her elbows onto the table, presenting him with a nice view straight down her cleavage. _ She is either too naive or too good at this game. _

She reached over, touching Jon’s neck as she traced the head of the wolf. With his arms trapped at his sides, Jon just sat still and let her. It tickled slightly and made him smile. “You seem to like that one,” he said.

“It’s the only one I can see,” she said before glancing at his hands. “But for those ones, of course.” She nodded at the letters on his knuckles. One hand spelled PAIN. The other spelled LOVE. “Another nod to your two-sides-to-everything theory?”

“Guess you could say that,” he spoke, breathing in through his nose as her fingers searched up the side of his beard, pushing into the curls by his ears.

“Jon?” she asked, meeting his eyes.

“Yes?” he whispered.

She slowly blinked, a little smile on her plump lips as she asked: “Where’s the toilet?”

* * *

“We’ve _ got _ to stop meeting like this!”

Jon grunted as he rocked his cock into Daenerys. She was riding him atop the toilet, her hands holding on to his shoulders for support. She threw her head back, her braids cascading down her back. “You tell me,” she moaned. “You’re the one risking your job!”

Jon pressed his face to her breasts. She was still in her dress, the hemline riding up around her waist as he pulled her down onto him. Like last time, he was almost fully dressed, his cock pulled out of his briefs whilst his shirt remained on, soaking up his sweat.

As he came, he gasped to her cleavage: “This is the last time!”

Daenerys pushed her fingers through his messy hair, whimpering as she came herself. Her legs were shivering around him, especially as she pulled herself off of his cock. This time, she hadn’t bothered to remove her panties - they had simply been pulled aside for him, and now they slipped back to make her decent, the fabric damp. “I have to work so hard not to look a mess,” she said, pulling at her dress to see just how far down she could cover herself.

“You say that as if I don’t,” Jon spoke, zipping his jeans back up.

“You’re sweaty anyway, and your hair is always in a state,” she teased.

Jon rolled his eyes though he knew she was right. “I mean it, though,” he said. “This is the last time.”

“Well, Missandei’s tattoo is finished anyway,” Daenerys told him. “So that won’t even be a problem. We probably won’t see each other again for a while.”

“Makes it all the easier,” Jon said, though his heart clenched a little. He kind of enjoyed their flirting, especially the way she looked at him with such innocence whilst speaking words of lust. _ It’s for the better, _ he thought and stood up as the door swung open, _ but I’ll miss it. _

They barely managed to exit before Missandei grabbed a hold of Daenerys’ arm. “Girl!” she said, “Do you want to hear the most _ amazing _ thing?”

Daenerys patted at her red cheeks, clearly hoping that Missandei wouldn’t notice how out of breath she was as she replied: “Sure!”

Missandei gave her a bright smile as she held up a drawing; it was an intricate pattern of roses and butterflies weaved together, every detail begging for a closer look. “Grey just made this,” she said, “and he’ll give it to me for _ half price _ because I’m _ such a good client!_”

_ Sure, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that he wants to bed you, _ Jon thought as he eyed Grey. He was standing by his workspace, smiling at Jon with pride. _ You sly man. _

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Daenerys spoke as she leaned in to take in the design. “Is that to scale?”

“No, this one is going to cover my whole back. It’ll take at least five sessions I reckon!”

As Missandei hurried back to Grey, Daenerys and Jon looked at each other, the colour draining from their cheeks. “Five sessions, huh?” Daenerys spoke.

“_At least,_” Jon added.

They both sighed and averted each other’s eyes.

* * *

The first week, they tried to remain proper; Daenerys stayed by Missandei’s side whilst Jon worked on his designs. It went so well that they dared to speak to each other during Jon’s break, but that’s when their restraint broke down; five minutes later, they were fucking in the toilet, Jon taking her with such need that she left bitemarks on his neck from keeping her moans down.

The second week, they didn’t even bother avoiding each other. Missandei had barely gotten seated before Jon waved Daenerys off to the toilet. This time, he fucked her from behind, wrapping her braids around his hand as he took her. _ She is such a cute girl, _ he thought as he rammed into her, his fingers in her mouth to keep her moans down. _ She is too good for me. _

The third week was disastrous. One of the toilets was closed for maintenance, and Jon’s client was a woman with a bladder the size of a pea. Their session was delayed as he had to stop every five minutes to allow her to pee, and he had no chance to even talk to Daenerys before she was on her way out again, her violet eyes twinkling with sadness.

However, they made up for it the fourth week; they fucked not once, not twice, but three times. It would have been a fourth had Missandei not asked Daenerys why she was ‘constantly running to the loo’. Scared they were going to be found out, Daenerys stayed in Grey’s workspace whilst Jon locked himself in the toilet alone, jerking himself off to the image of her. It was that same day, as he washed the cum off his hands, that he looked at himself in the mirror and realised: _I am in love. _

It was a strange realisation. Love. Jon had never been _ in love _ before. Of course he knew people who had - like his stepmother, who had loved his father dearly. So dearly in fact that she’d had no love left for him. Or Grey, who fancied Missandei to the point of writing poetry about her. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Jon had spotted his book of poems on his desk. Flickering through the pages when he wasn’t looking, Jon had laughed at the flowery words that Grey used to describe how she made him feel.

But now Jon realised that there had been nothing flowery about his writing. It had just been the truth. He felt every word, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

* * *

Friday night, Jon felt his head buzzing. In the midst of the dancing crowd, he’d lost sight of Grey, and now he fumbled his way through the club, trying to shout louder than the music: “Grey! Come on, man, it’s time to go home! It’s already-” he stopped in the middle of a dancing couple, not even noticing them shouting at him as he tried to discern the time on his watch, “it’s already _ three in the morning!_”

The DJ turned the music up. As the crowd cheered, Jon groaned and grabbed at his head. _ I shouldn’t drink so much, _ he thought as he battled his way forward, finally grabbing a hold of the edge of the bar. Despite feeling like he was about to pass out, he heard himself say: “Whiskey, make it double!” and threw his card on the counter.

He was warm. Unlike most people in there, he was dressed formally in slacks and a white shirt. Grey had invited him to his parents house for a fancy dinner, but once dessert had been eaten and pleasantries exchanged, they took off in his car and headed straight to town.

Three clubs later, he’d lost his black tie, some girl had stolen his belt, and he now popped open the two top buttons of his shirt to let the air in. As the bartender handed him his whiskey, he had a sip and glanced around, his eyes widening as he saw _ her. _

Daenerys was standing further down the bar, surrounded by a group of girls. They were all wearing short dresses and high heels, but Daenerys’ still stood out; her dress was soft pink, and her heels sparkling gold, catching his attention immediately.

_ Cute as always, _ he thought as he approached. “Hey,” he called as he reached her side.

Daenerys didn’t look at him at first, not until he leaned in, causing his shadow to fall on her face. She blinked, then gasped as she recognised him. “Oh, Jon!” she spoke surprised.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said with a smile.

Daenerys nodded shyly, twisting a lock of her hair around her fingertip as she glanced toward her girlfriends. They were all looking at him with shock.

“You _ know _ him?” he heard one of them ask.

“This is Jon,” she said, “he tattoos Missandei.”

Her words felt like a slap to his face. Of all the ways she could’ve described him, he was reduced to some dude who tattoos her friend. Still, he nodded a little. “Yeah,” he said, his voice not as chirpy as before. He gulped down half his whiskey. “I’m… _ that_.”

“You look like a bad boy,” one of the girls said, but it didn’t sound like a compliment. She looked him up and down and huffed: “Looks like you’ve acted like one too!”

Jon glanced down and swore under his breath as he realised his zipper was undone. He quickly did it up. “Been to the loo,” he mumbled. It didn’t even matter that it was the truth - he could tell Daenerys’ didn’t believe him as her cheeks grew bright red, and she looked away from him with harsh eyes.

“Have you now,” she spoke.

“Well, to _ piss_,” he clarified.

“That’s what you do in the toilet, yes,” she replied perfectly coolly, making her girlfriends snicker.

_ They don’t understand, _ he thought, _ They all think I’ve been fucking in the stall. _ He cleared his throat as he looked at Daenerys, trying to keep his voice steady as he said: “I’ve not done… well, you know, what _ we _ do.”

Daenerys turned to look at him, and her lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but in the same a tall brunette came rushing up. She was giggling as she pushed Jon’s belt into his hands. “Found you!” she laughed, holding on to the BRIDESMAID-ribbon that was slung around her shoulders. “Thanks again!” She pecked his cheek, gave Daenerys a polite nod, and then slipped back into the crowd.

As Jon rubbed his cheek, he assured her: “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It is none of my business what you do,” she said, not looking at him once.

Jon knew he should remain calm, but the alcohol in him was buzzing, and it was making him bolder than ever. He slammed his hand to the counter as he hissed: “_I have not been unfaithful._”

The group of girls quieted, some of them taking a step back. Daenerys, however, stood her ground. As she turned to face him, he could see her eyes glimmering with anger. “You haven’t,” she said, “because we are _ not _ together, so you cannot be unfaithful to me.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Jon asked, poking his head to hers.

She leaned in too, so close their noses met. “It is.” She stared him down just as well as he stared her down. Neither of them wanted to back away.

“So that’s it?” Jon said. “I’m just some _ bad boy_?”

“And I’m just some _ stupid_, _ naive _ girl who lets you have her,” Daenerys hissed back at him. She reached over and grabbed the belt out of his hand, pushing it to his chest. “Looks like I’m not the only one, either. Guess I should’ve known when I first met you. You’re nothing but a _ fuckboy._”

Her words rung in Jon’s ears. He didn’t grab a hold of the belt, instead he let it drop to the floor as he pulled away. For a moment, his eyes shimmered wetly, and he could see Daenerys blinking with surprise. It looked as if she was rethinking her words, and she wanted to say something else, but before she could, the alcohol from earlier kicked in.

“Fuck you,” he whispered.

“Jon-” Daenerys started, but he shook his head as he backed away from her.

“Fuck. _ You._” With that, he turned around and pushed his way through the crowd.

Between the alcohol sloshing around his brain and the music, Jon could hear the faint call of his name. But he didn’t bother to stop and look, he just pushed on and on, elbowing his way through the hot crowd until he finally stepped outside.

The cool evening air wrapped around him and made him gasp. For a second, he stood still, closing his eyes as he breathed in deeply. The sweat on his body dried on his skin. His warm cheeks lost their colour. Somewhere in his throat, the alcohol started nudging its way back up, and he swiftly turned on his heels, choosing a random direction as he started heading home.

Only problem was, Jon didn’t remember which way his flat was.

“Jon!” he heard his name shouted once more. Out on the street, there were fewer sounds to drown out the call, and he tried to hurry, recognising Daenerys’ voice. “Jon!” A hand wrapped around his shoulder, and he was turned around.

“Daenerys, I-” Jon started. But it was not Daenerys. It was Grey.

His friend looked at him with concerned eyes. “Jon, I thought I lost you. You okay?” Grey was still immaculately dressed, his tie sitting correctly under his collar, his suit jacket perfectly framing his body. Maybe that was why he immediately looked to Jon’s slacks and asked: “What happened to your belt, man?”

Jon took in a deep breath. Then he folded over as he vomited onto their shoes.

* * *

On week five, Daenerys didn’t show.

Jon tapped his pencil to his drawing as he sat watching Missandei and Grey. Her back was turned on him, and he could see Grey putting the finishing touches on her tattoo, the backpiece a true work of art. But he could also see something else - the gentle way in which Grey touched her shoulder, the sweet way in which she whispered in his ear, the loving way in which they looked into each other’s eyes.

_ They’ve fucked, _ Jon concluded, and he knew it should make him happy, but it made him feel _ miserable. _ He bit down on the top of the pencil as he closed his eyes with a sigh. _ They’ve fucked, they’re in love, and they have each other. _ He opened his eyes again, gazing at the empty stool before him. _ I have fucked, I’m in love, and I am alone. _

Since the night in town, he hadn’t seen Daenerys. Missandei didn’t speak of her, not even when he prodded her that morning.

“How’s Daenerys?” he’d asked.

“Not with me,” she’d replied.

“She’s okay?” he’d pressed.

“If you want to know, you should talk to her,” Missandei had said, a certain sharpness to her voice.

Jon thought about their conversation over and over again, trying to decide if he could discern anything from her words. _ Does she know about us? Did Daenerys tell her about that night? _ And, more importantly, _ What the hell did I say? _

Once Jon sobered up, his memory was blank. At first, he didn’t even remember running into Daenerys, and he happily spent Saturday afternoon imagining what their next fuck would be like. So when he awoke in the middle of the night, the memory of their argument clear in his mind, his heartbeat dropped so much he thought it was going to stop completely.

Thing was - though he remembered her expressions, and the mean chuckle of her girlfriends, and every word that _ she _ said, he didn’t remember exactly what _ he _ said. He just knew that he had shouted at her. _ And that in itself is a dealbreaker, _ he was certain.

At six, Jon locked the doors to the parlour. He was still inside, watching Grey take off with Missandei in the light rain as he grabbed the broom and started sweeping the floor.

Grey had begged him to let him go early. “I know I’m on cleaning duty,” he said, “but Missandei-”

Jon didn’t even let him finish: “Just go,” he said, feeling at least _ someone _ should feel happiness in their life.

Now he was doomed to spend an extra hour tidying up both their workspaces. But as he heard a faint knock on the glass, he realised it would not be alone.

Jon turned and looked at Daenerys. She looked back at him. For a moment, they just stood like that, the rain falling onto the windows.

As always, she looked _ perfect _ \- her dress was long and blue, highlighting the violet in her eyes nicely, and her heels were short and cut at the toes, giving him sight of her painted nails. He slowly licked his teeth, his grip on the broom-handle tightening. Then, he walked over and turned the lock, allowing her to push the door open.

“Hey,” she said as the door slipped up. She stepped onto the threshold, but no further, her feet dripping water.

“Hey,” he said.

She pushed her hand into her braided locks and glanced up at the rainy clouds. “Can I come in?” she asked, and he nodded as he stepped aside, allowing her to slip past him. As he closed the door, he took in a deep breath. _ So, this is it, _ he thought. _ This is judgement time. _

He turned to face her, ready to explain himself, but instead he found her chuckling. “What?” he asked and furrowed his brows.

“I just totally feel like Rachel and Ross from that cafe scene.”

“Who’s Rachel and Ross?”

Daenerys blinked. “You’ve never watched Friends?” she asked. As Jon shook his head, she mumbled: “Wow, you must be the only person in the universe who hasn’t.”

“Guess I’m too much of a fuckboy,” Jon retorted and sniffed.

Daenerys blushed. “Sorry,” she mumbled and glanced at the floor, “that was mean of me.”

“Yes,” Jon said, “it was.” He leaned the broomstick up against the counter as he reached for two dirty mugs. “Let me clean these,” he said, “and prepare a brew.”

“Sounds good,” Daenerys nodded and seated herself on his stool.

As he stood in the little kitchen corner, rinsing the mugs under the hot water, he glanced toward her. _ She looks so good there, _ he thought, feeling his heart hurt. _ She looks so… fuckable. _ He bit his tongue as he silently swore at himself. How was he meant to have a serious discussion when he was already bedding her in his mind? He sighed, shook the mugs in the air to get the water out of them, and then put on the kettle.

As he returned with the coffee, Daenerys accepted the mug with a smile. “Thanks,” she said and watched him sit down by his desk.

For a moment, it felt like she was just any other client whom he was about to discuss design ideas with. Then, she spoke:

“I am angry with you.”

Jon sipped his coffee. “What for?”

“You shouted at me,” she said. “I have never had a man shout at me that way before. It was _ very _ uncomfortable.”

Jon rested the mug in his lap. He took in a breath, ready to defend himself, but then he shook his head. “You’re right,” he said, looking down at his boots before glancing up to meet her eyes. “That was wrong of me. I am sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he thought her voice sounded surprised, but he wasn’t sure. She quickly started sipping her own brew, looking away from him.

“You know,” Jon said, “I’m also hurt.”

“I apologised for calling you a fuckboy,” Daenerys reminded him.

“In the club, you introduced me as Missi’s tattoo artist. Not your friend, just… some _ tradesman._”

“_That _ hurt you?” Daenerys said, looking back at him. This time he knew she was surprised. As she rested the mug on the edge of the desk, she cocked her head slightly. “But you _ are _ a tattoo artist.”

“You know what I mean,” Jon grumbled. “Look, I didn’t expect you to say, oh, hey girls, this is Jon, I let him fuck me every week,” Jon said, putting on a false high-pitched voice which caused Daenerys to sneer:

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Right.” He lowered his voice back to a normal tone as he continued: “Look, I know you’re really set on this image. You want to look like you’re super perfect-”

“_I’m _ set on an image?” she said with a hollow laugh.

Jon felt his cheeks redden. “But you mocked me in front of your friends. It was _ humiliating. _ I just came over to say hello, and you just shot me down. Like I was nothing.”

Daenerys was staring into her mug. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Then she sighed. “I’m not trying to be some perfect girl,” she started, and Jon interrupted:

“Oh yeah? Then what’s with all the pink dresses and innocent innuendo and-”

“And if you’re not a fuckboy, what’s with all of _ this?_” Daenerys waved her hand in a circle around his face.

“That’s just how I look!”

“And _ this _ is just how _ I _look!” she shouted back. At this, Jon’s lips shut, and he blinked at her. She looked at him with annoyed eyes, but her scowl started melting away as he finally kept quiet. She took in a deep breath. “This is just how I look,” she repeated. “I like looking feminine. That’s maybe not what you’re used to in this business, but that’s who I am. It doesn’t mean I think I am some innocent, naive little girl. For heaven’s sake, Jon, I let you fuck me the first time we met!”

Jon blushed and looked into his mug. “Yea,” he mumbled, a little smile on his lips, “Good times.”

Daenerys nose wrinkled as if she wanted to be mad, but he could see a humoured twinkle in her eyes. “Look, Jon, I meant what I said in the club. We’re not an item. What you do is not my business. But to come up and rub it in my face-?” She shook her head sadly.

“What do you mean?”

“The belt?” Daenerys reminded him. “That brunette who you… well, none of my business. She returned your belt. Don’t try to tell me that’s nothing, because that’s certainly _ something._”

Jon blinked as he tried to remember. Then, as it all came back to him, his lips formed into a perfect: “Ooh.”

“Ooh,” Daenerys nodded. “Ooh indeed.”

“It was a game,” Jon said.

“I told you I don’t want to know-”

“Daenerys, she was a bridesmaid. They were playing a game. They had to collect all sorts of items from men in the club. Whoever got most won.” Jon raised his brows at her, a smile playing on his lips. “She nicked my belt to win three points, not because she wanted to _ fuck me._”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, her fingertips tapping down the mug. “Truly?” she asked.

“Truly,” he nodded.

For a bit, neither of them spoke. Then Jon reached up and started undoing the buttons of his shirt.

As she noticed, Daenerys stuttered: “Jon, we’re not going to-”

“I know,” he said annoyed, “that’s not what I’m doing.” He slipped the buttons open one by one until his shirt was undone, then shrugged it off his body. As the fabric fell to the back of the chair, Daenerys’ eyes roamed his torso.

Jon was covered in tattoos. From the wolf on his neck to the ravens on his pecs, the skulls and quotes trailing down his stomach, even the hint of antlers poking up by his hips. They were all in black and grey, one picture leading the eye to the next.

Daenerys took it all in, her gaze travelling down his arms, until they reached the bare spot by his wrists. It was only then, as he turned his arms, his palms facing up, that she realised what he really meant for her to see. There, across his wrists, were scars. Old ones which had mended themselves with time, turning into long, hard lines across his wrists. But they were there nonetheless.

“There are two sides to everyone,” Jon spoke quietly.

Daenerys reached out, her fingertips hesitating by his hands until he gave her a nod of approval. She then touched his scars, her fingers trailing the lines from the bottom up. “When did you do this?” she asked, her own voice a whisper.

“I started when I was eleven,” Jon said.

Daenerys swallowed. “That’s _ young._”

“I never knew my mother. My dad never spoke of her. Instead, he insisted that I grew to love my stepmother, but there was no love between us. She hated me, and I came to hate her for it.” Jon’s fingers clenched into fists as he spoke. “When he died, she begrudgingly let me stay in her home. Every day was a nightmare. Whatever I did was wrong. Whatever I didn’t do was wrong as well. I developed odd habits to cope. One of them was scratching my skin, right here,” he gestured to the skin just below his palm, “with my nails until I bled. I soon discovered the pain took my mind off of it all. So I continued.”

“But not just with your nails,” Daenerys concluded, feeling the tallness of some of his scars. “Some of these look deep?”

“When I was fifteen, she caught me with a girl. She was so angry, I thought she would kill me. She said, _ No one ever deserves to feel the burden of loving you the way I have. _ That night, I grabbed a kitchen knife and just tried to-” Jon’s voice shuddered. “I just wanted to-” He took in a deep breath.

Daenerys reached up, brushing a tear away from his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said, and when he looked into her shimmering violet eyes he knew she spoke the truth. “I am so, so sorry.”

“When I didn’t die, I decided - well, fuck it. If I am bad no matter what I do, I will just become bad. For a while, I actually _ was _ a fuckboy.”

“No,” Daenerys said, shaking her head. “Jon, don’t say that.”

Jon shrugged. “I was. I fucked whoever wanted me. I fought whoever challenged me. If it wasn’t for Grey, I would’ve ended up in the grave years ago. He was the one who introduced me to drawing. It was then I realised - I don’t have to feel pain to express my emotions. I can just… _ express myself._” He glanced up at his wall of art, his eyes still shimmering wetly in the light, but a smile now on his lips. “Grey saved me, Daenerys. _ Tattoos _ saved me. I can never have enough.”

Daenerys closed her hands around his wrists. They warmed him nicely, and he looked down at her fingers, the tears slipping from his eyes. “Oh Jon,” she said, “if I’d known-... well, I would’ve never called you _ that._”

“You couldn’t have known,” he said. “Don’t be sorry.”

Daenerys gently rubbed his wrists, her fingertips feeling every inch of his scars. “Remember when I told you about my brother?” Daenerys asked. “How he treated me like some sort of maid?”

Jon nodded. “Yeah, you escaped him, didn’t you?”

“Barely.” She smiled a sad smile. “Jon, the man is obsessed with power and wealth. He saw me as just another tool to get what he wanted. I was his perfect sister, trained to do his bidding. By the time I left, he was ready to marry me off to some old businessman just to get his foot in the company’s door!” She shook her head and grimaced: “_My own brother _ was ready to make me some sort of… _ mail-order bride _ just to secure himself a fat pay-cheque.”

At her story, Jon sniffed and shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, “he sounds like a dick.”

Daenerys laughed and wiped her own cheeks, feeling her skin wetting too. “He is,” she said, “he is a dick. At least after moving he’s left me alone.”

“I feel bad, calling you perfect,” he admitted, the guilt tingling in his chest.

“Don’t. Most girls would _ love _ to be called that.”

“Most girls,” Jon said, “but I can’t keep just treating you like any other woman on the street. Not when I-” He took in a deep breath. He swallowed. _ Am I about to say it? _ he thought. _ Do I have the courage? _

“Not when…?” Daenerys urged, her head slightly cocked.

Jon closed his palms around her fingers as he looked into her eyes. “Not when I’m in love with you.”

Daenerys’ face went bright pink, and if they hadn’t just had such a serious conversation, Jon might’ve said something like, _ That’s the cute face you make when I fuck you. _ Instead, he just thought it as he awaited her reply.

“You’re in love with me?” she said, her voice frail.

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

“Why, too emotional for you?”

Jon laughed, and he pulled his hand free to wipe his cheeks. “After this, nothing seems to emotional for me,” he admitted.

Daenerys smiled a gentle smile, and she reached over his desk to grab at his face. “Jon,” she said, making his chuckling quiet. “I’m in love with you too.”

It was then something inside of Jon’s chest spread. It was a warmth unlike the one he’d felt in the summer heat, but very much like the one he’d seen Grey describe in his poems. Like a second heartbeat. Lively, and calming, and exciting all at once, and as he leaned in to kiss Daenerys, he thought, _ There are two sides to everything. There is pain, and there is love. It is all about what we choose to pursue. _

“Jon,” Daenerys whispered to his lips.

He glanced through his half-closed lids at her. “Mhm?”

Daenerys smiled, her eyes shimmering naughtily as she asked: “Where’s the toilet again?”

* * *

As Jon removed the stencil from her arm, he asked: “How does that look?”

Daenerys turned in front of the mirror and flashed him a bright smile. “Oh, my God, this is going to look _ amazing._”

The tattoo parlour was newly decorated. Exposed, red brickstone decorated the right side of the shop whilst the grey wall opposite was filled to the brim with framed art done by Grey and Jon. The desk was covered in smooth marble, and there wasn’t a dirty mug in sight. In fact, the place was clean and shined with professionalism, and the gold on their parlour name shimmered across the window: INKredible.

Jon gestured for Daenerys to take a seat as he slipped on a pair of black latex gloves. “Only the best for my first client,” he smirked and settled next to her. He picked up the tattoo gun as he glanced over his art again.

On her arm was a dragon. It was going to be pretty, in the colours of pink and yellow as Daenerys had requested, but it was also fierce, its teeth bared and its eyes wide open as it breathed hot fire around to her elbow. _ Opposites attract, _ Jon thought, pushing up the sleeves of his tee as he looked at Daenerys, _ clearly. _

“Please tell me it won’t hurt,” Daenerys breathed and clenched her hands into fists.

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” Missandei called from the opposite end of the shop. As she laughed, Daenerys squealed:

“You’re _ so mean_!”

“Hush.” Jon started the tattoo gun, and he settled close to her arm. “Ready?”

Daenerys looked him in the eyes, then nodded with a smile. “_Ready_.”

Jon smiled, leaned in, and started his work.

..

**Author's Note:**

> OK SO... this was a story I wanted to write for a long time. I've been in love with the idea of tattoo artist Jon for a while, but never quite knew how I wanted to write him. For better or worse, this turned out exactly the way I had in mind! A thank you to DragonandDirewolf who did not one but two pieces of art this time around! Both of them gorgeous in my opinion! 
> 
> A big thank you to all of you reading and commenting on my stories. It's such a great privilege reading your thoughts and reactions, and it always warms my heart! Let's keep the Jonerys fandom alive for as long as we can.


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